


time — it comes for us

by iwaoidk



Series: if i could be with you [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, I do not know what happened, M/M, how do i try to tag, it's a storm of hajime and oikawa is caught in the middle, it's um
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoidk/pseuds/iwaoidk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hajime was like the clouds and the rain that was sewn to their edges, he was a gentle hurricane of his own and it always left Oikawa's heart in the middle of his chest but beating to the side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time — it comes for us

Sometimes Oikawa wondered what it'd be like if he still had Iwaizumi Hajime. 

Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if they'd carried on through the flames, if they'd kissed one more time, if they'd traced the curve of each other's lips and breathed just to hear their heartbeats. He wondered how many stars he could have counted on Hajime's back, how many square inches of skin he would have been able to count, how many times he could have kissed the freckle behind Hajime's ear before he noticed a pattern.

Oikawa wondered what it would be like if they could still hold hands and tell people that they belonged to each other.

He was usually up until four in the morning now, Oikawa was, and he didn't know what to do with the time that filled the spaces between his fingers. His lips were always dry, his teeth always biting at them, and he'd remember how they used to fit Iwa-chan's so perfectly.

 

•

_did we all fall down?_

•

 

Sometimes, when his words pushed at his lungs so much that he couldn't quite breathe, Oikawa would take a walk.

There was never a real destination anymore, because to have a destination is to be going somewhere, and to be going somewhere is assuming that you have a home, and Oikawa didn't have a home. He had a house, he had a roof over his head and he had laminate flooring under his bare feet, he had a bedroom that was much too big for one person and a bed that had enough empty space to chase shakes down his spine.

He had a house, but what Oikawa didn't have was a home. He had lost his home when he lost Hajime, he lost the quiet storm under tan skin and calloused hands, lost the crashing waves of kisses that could steal the breath right out of his lungs. He lost his home when he watched those hands push the last shirt into a bag and watched them push the bag over his shoulder. Watched the way his back flexed under his shirt as he walked away.

Oikawa didn't know how to stop it, stop him from walking away.

So he didn't.

 

•

_I can see you in my head, anytime._

•

 

Oikawa could remember that Hajime's mouth always moved when he was deep in thought. Twitching lips, teeth pulling at the soft skin, working his cheeks around the corners.

His mouth was curving into a hurricane when he'd first said it, their hands locked, shoulders brushing with every step. It was 9:09 pm, Oikawa could still remember, and the wind was kissing their cheeks. He remembered the way Hajime's thumb ran across the back of Oikawa's hand, the way it stopped on the freckle between his third and fourth knuckle without having to look. Oikawa remembered the way the lights from the half-alive street lamps would toy with the angles of Hajime's cheekbones, how they'd toss shadows across his eyelids and lashes and the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips.

He remembered the way Hajime looked so beautiful that Oikawa wondered why he stayed.

( _Not until the end_.)

Oikawa had watched the way Hajime's lower lip slid out, just a margin further than the top lip, and then it slipped back into place. He saw an extra shadow flicker across his cheek from a new angle, one created by Hajime biting the inside. They'd stopped walking at some point, Hajime's feet slowing to a stop and Oikawa's following, because Oikawa would follow him anywhere, he'd be a step close and a step far away.

"Hey," Hajime had whispered, soft palm reaching up to rest against Oikawa's cheek, "I want to say something."

They'd been wearing coats, the prelude to winter already pushing at Hajime's collar as he spoke. He was handsome as ever, so handsome, looked so sturdy even in the wind that Oikawa couldn't breathe in. Oikawa didn't feel like he was worth it.

"What is it, Iwa-chan?"

Hajime had taken a deep breath, his lips in a whirlwind of patterns, and Oikawa could feel something pulling his bones apart when they kept their eyes on each other.

"I love you."

Oikawa remembered the way the edge of his coat beat against his thigh, the way his own lips were shaking, the way Hajime's hand was warm against his cheek even in the cold arms of the wind. Oikawa remembered the way he'd started crying, the way his tears traced his eyelashes and ran along the curve of his cheek to balance at the bottom of his chin. He remembered how they'd dripped down the front of his shirt and how warm the salt felt against his cold skin.

" _I love you too, Hajime_."

He remembered the way a few happy notes climbed up his throat when Hajime had grappled onto his hips and pulled him close, their lips slotting together, Oikawa's tears keeping both of their cheeks warm.

 

•

_from the light to the pavement._

•

 

Sometimes Oikawa felt like the clouds were moving around his throat. Like they were closing in, like they were pushing past the part of his lips and flooding his lungs and cutting off the ability to breathe that he'd already been losing.

He probably felt this way because clouds always came with rain. They always come with the rhythmic pounding of the drops against the roof, they always come with the reflection of lightning in the rainwater and it always reminds Oikawa of Hajime. 

It was because Hajime himself was like the clouds and the rain that was sewn to their edges, he was a gentle hurricane of his own and it always left Oikawa's heart in the middle of his chest but beating to the side. 

It was days like these, when the rain was drumming against the window shutters, that Oikawa felt his chest being pounded to his back. Pressed around the ridges of his spine, the quivering of his heartbeat almost pointless. It didn't have a point because it used to speed up for Hajime, and now nothing made his pulse change except the rapid succession of gasps that Oikawa pulled into his lips when he was sobbing at two in the morning, swathed in the blankets that he used to share.

 

•

_spend the rest of your days rocking out, just for the dead._

•

 

Oikawa still wasn't able to pinpoint why they broke.

Maybe it's because when Hajime told him why he preferred tea over coffee, Oikawa had been tracing the ridges of his knuckles instead of listening, and had made him coffee the next morning. Maybe it's because when Hajime told him why this movie was his favorite, Oikawa had been watching the screen in the reflection in his eyes instead of on the television.

Maybe it's because he kept telling Hajime that he loved him, long after Hajime stopped.

( _Maybe Hajime never stopped_.)

 

•

 _all fall down, after all_.

•

 

Time never had quite the same linear use for Oikawa anymore. There were twenty-four hours in a day, one thousand four hundred forty minutes, eighty six thousand four hundred seconds. That was twenty-four hours without Hajime's chest to his back, one thousand forty minutes without his lips dragging across his skin, eighty six thousand four hundred seconds without Hajime's soft voice being whispered, without lips pressed against ears and fingers curled into t-shirts.

The ticking of a clock just sounded like the thrumming of a tsunami, the sound of Oikawa's skin slowly unraveling. His heartbeat was always in his throat, his bitten fingernails on worn fingertips folded over the tips of sleeves that always just passed his thumbs. 

 

•

_promise not to cry, and I'll tell you how it ends._

•

 

They'd ended with a closed door, footsteps walking away from each other. Oikawa didn't know if they'd ever walk towards each other ever again.

He'd felt the breaking apart of a constellation, the stuttering of his fingertips, and he was suddenly a ray of sunlight that was stopped by a cloud. Stopped by a cloud, a cloud, a bringer of rain and the way rainwater swells, the push and pull of lightning and the dangerous sob of thunder.

" _I'm sorry, Tooru._ "

Oikawa didn't bother with umbrellas anymore, he just lets the drops hit him, and they feel like bullets each time.

" _We're just different ends of a timeline._ "

He was booming, he was the ground shaking under the soles of his feet, the smell of rain, he was the wind that pressed against Oikawa's back when he needed help to keep walking.

" _But I don't regret you. I won't._ "

Delicate existence, diamonds masked as costume jewelry, tears falling in time with the way he blinked.

" _I couldn't. I'll never regret you, Tooru_."

Oikawa closes his eyes and he sees gray. 


End file.
